


A Different Kind of Magic

by BeautifullyObsessed



Category: Avengers: Endgame - Fandom, Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, F/M, My Constant Muse, Strangebatch, story based on Tumblr role play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:27:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifullyObsessed/pseuds/BeautifullyObsessed
Summary: A fascinating stranger enlists the help of librarian Beauty Lincoln for some research he is doing on a some haunted pieces of property in New York City's Hell's Kitchen.  They eventually strike up an unlikely friendship, which strengthens once he decides he can trust her, and she inadvertently discovers his day job involves magic and mysticism.  And all the while Beauty is falling in love with the charming, albeit enigmatic man.  Will Stephen Strange catch on to the many ways she tries to tell him what she's feeling--and will he someday come to feel the same way for her?  This story is based on an ongoing role play with a Doctor Strange role play blog (doctorstrangeaskblog@tumblr.com); I decided to back track and give them a solid beginning.
Relationships: Doctor Strange & OFC, Doctor Strange/OFC, Stephen Strange & OFC, Stephen Strange/OFC
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. A Quiet Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, her name really is Beauty--the tale of which she will share with Stephen in a future chapter.

Alone in the fourth floor stacks at the end of her work day, Beauty’s mind had gone woolgathering, thinking about the very handsome, very distinguished looking gentleman who had so well occupied a portion of her afternoon. His interest in those reference books-–which she was now shelving–-had been both rare and unusual, piquing her curiosity as to exactly what he’d needed them for. Those particular texts were some of the oldest in the Library, and as such, they could not be lent out, let alone be removed from the fourth floor.

Moreover, the man had seemed to understand their intrinsic value without needing an explanation or word of caution, and he had handled them much more carefully than most patrons she had previously assisted with similarly aged materials. Beauty realized this was due in part to the tremors evident in his badly scarred hands–but she believed it was more out of respect for the age and nature of the books themselves. Which, of course, would have been enough to make her like him-–even if their initial interaction hadn’t already intrigued her.

She’d been typing up the monthly figures on patron usage and materials circulation, when a man stepped up to the desk and cleared his throat to get her attention. “Ms. Lincoln?” he had asked in a deferential tone (having read the name plate on her desk), and she had looked up from her laptop screen into a pair of blue-green eyes that immediately struck her as both wise and patient. And which had somehow made her sit a little straighter in her chair, as though she wanted him to see that she was worthy of her title as Head Archivist of the main branch of The New York Public Library.

Her fingers paused their tapping of their own accord as she turned her full attention on him. “Yes, that’s…that’s me.” The left corner of his mouth ticked up into the precursor of a smile, and that made her want to smile back. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, please…” he had begun, and Beauty had listened to him describe in detail what he was looking for. Even as her mind began to formulate the search parameters she would need to locate what he required, she was watching him, surprisingly entranced by the fine crinkles at the corners of his remarkable eyes and the extraordinary angles and planes of his finely chiseled face. Intelligent, well-spoken, exceptionally polite, on top of being tall, dark-haired, and handsome–why she couldn’t remember the last time she’d encountered a man in this hodgepodge of a City that ticked off so many of the qualities on her wish list, and on first impression, no less! 

The streaks of white at his temples and his meticulously trimmed mustache and goatee added an air of sophistication that reminded her of the romantic leads in some of her favorite romance films. Olivier’s Maxim de Winter. Plummer’s Captain Von Trapp. Colin Firth in just about anything. And even Branagh’s Roman Strauss from the 90′s flick, _Dead Again_. Beauty could only hope those very uncharacteristic thoughts did not flit across her face.

She had nodded once he had concluded, confident that she could gather the reference books he wanted in short order. She already had a fairly good idea of the general area to look, and hitting the search bar on her laptop confirmed her hunch. She closed her computer and stood up as she explained, “Those stacks are for library personnel only, Mister…”

“Strange,” he replied, without missing a beat,

“…Mr. Strange,” she continued, a little surprised at his unusual surname, “But you are welcome to wait here while I track down what you’re looking for.” She motioned to a set of four, evenly spaced tables at the center of the room, only one of which had been currently occupied. “While I can’t allow the materials to leave this floor, as long as I or one of my assistants is manning this desk, you can study them at length”

“Sounds perfect,” he nodded, and this time he did smile--crookedly, genuinely, and in Beauty’s humble estimation, quite charmingly.

“This will probably take me about ten minutes or so, Mr. Strange--if you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course.” He had tilted his head as an acknowledgement and headed over to take a seat at the table nearest her desk.

* * *

It had actually taken Beauty a bit longer to collect the books than she had expected, including two trips up the five step, rolling access ladder to retrieve items from the top shelves of separate rows. _No one’s looked at these in_ _years...at least not during my tenure_ , she thought, wondering if Strange’s interest in the buildings in Hell’s Kitchen was architectural. She couldn’t imagine any other reason, except that his request for land ownership records going back before the American Revolution didn’t fit with that theory.

Task accomplished, she wheeled the small book cart containing the materials out to the public area of the Reference Floor, where she found Strange perusing a recent copy of _The Lancet_ \--which he must have found in the unbound periodical section. That seemed curious--unless he was a 21st century version of a Renaissance man, with interests and skills in multiple areas of study. 

Beauty parked the cart beside Strange’s table, and then laid a pair of white cotton gloves before him. “If you wouldn’t mind,” she told him, eyeing the dark network of scars marking his hands. Hands which otherwise would look like an artist’s--a sculptor’s, a painter’s, or perhaps even a surgeon’s--leaving her to wonder what sort of accident or event could have wreaked that level of damage. “Some of that pages are quite fragile, and we like to keep them protected from even the slightest contact with the oils occurring naturally on skin.”

“Right,” he said quietly, almost to himself, picking up the gloves, “A wise precaution...”

Although he had looked determined to follow her request, Beauty quickly realized the gloves she had provided would be a tight fit, “Oh...hold on a moment, Mr. Strange. I think I’ve got a larger pair in one of my desk drawers.” She moved swiftly to check the bottom drawer, and was relieved to find exactly what she needed, returning to him with a fresh pair, wrapped in cellophane. “These will probably be better for you,” she told him, offering a conciliatory smile and tearing open the packaging to save him the trouble.

Strange looked up at her gratefully as she handed the gloves over, though he also looked a little sad, “Thank you, Ms. Lincoln...for everything.”

Beauty’s heart went out to him; she supposed his days must be filled with little moments such as this, when someone overlooked that his injuries might require a different approach to everyday tasks. “You’re very welcome, Mr. Strange--and please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything more I can do for you.”

“Will do.” When he smiled this time, it seemed to Beauty as though sunshine had broken through cloud cover. She could well imagine there were few women--like herself, anyway--immune to that sort of easy charm.

* * *

Over two hours later, her newest patron appeared to be finishing up his research. While going about her work, Beauty had been sneaking occasional looks his way, checking on his progress as he’d been taking notes on a small legal pad. Now, Strange set his pen and paper aside, and stripped the gloves from his hands; he’d closed his eyes and was stretching his neck to either side after being hunched so long over those old texts. She meandered over, on pretext of collecting several periodicals which another patron had discarded on a neighboring table. They were now the only two people in the room.

“So--were any of those materials helpful?”

He opened his eyes, and even before he answered, Beauty could tell he was pleased with the results he had gotten. “Absolutely--exactly what I needed,” he stressed. “You know, far too many people think that everything can be solved with a quick Google search. But I’ve found that--old-fashioned as the concept may be--books really are irreplaceable.”

She had grinned, exclaiming, “Right? Too few people get that these days.” Beauty perched on the edge of the table, close enough for a cozy conversation. “I get at least a half dozen kids a week--college age and high schoolers--who have no idea that Wikipedia isn’t the be-all, end-all of research.”

“Well, they’re missing out,” he agreed, “There’s a lot to be said for the tactile sensation of book in hand, as opposed to studying off of a computer screen or even a tablet. And something quite comforting about the idea of generations of students before us having succeeded by using the very texts we hold in our hands today.”

Here was a man speaking intelligently about one of her passions--however was she too resist? Beauty wanted to know more about him. “It sound like you’ve experienced that close at hand.”

“Oh, yes,” Stephen chuckled, angling his chair to face her more comfortably, “Years and years. Undergrad. Medical school. And years later...a, uh...well, let’s just say an _unexpected_ change in careers. All made possible by the knowledge collected in countless copies of these...” He patted the pile of books on his table.

_Hmmmm...well that explains_ The Lancet... _but he also said ‘change in careers’_. Intuition told her that such a change might have had something to do with his hands--and about that, Beauty felt it would be poor of her to pry. “Well then...Doctor Strange...” He favored her with a wee, sideways smile. “I’m very glad for the opportunity to have helped you today. Especially considering that you have such an honest appreciation for the written word.”

“And I’m glad to know that the City has such a savvy, dedicated guardian for some of its most valuable--albeit hidden--treasures.” Strange stood up, and extended his hand to Beauty.

She felt a sudden flush color her cheeks as she realized he was likely offering a unique opportunity. That given the way his hands shook, and that their disfigurement might also come with some level of discomfort, his proffer might be a rare thing indeed. Beauty smiled shyly and gave a little shrug before gingerly taking his hand. “You’re very kind to say so, Doctor...”

Quietly amused, he leaned a little closer to her, his voice dropping low and confidential, “It’s Stephen...please...”

“Of course...Stephen.” Beauty lowered her eyes; she felt a little breathless, with such a charming, handsome man so close to her. So close, and with her hand still softly cradled in his. _No need to let go, anytime soon, she was thinking, this is really...really...nice_. She dared look back to him, and could have sworn from the look in his mesmerizing eyes that he had caught a drift of her thoughts. “Um,” she swallowed, “Please do come by again if there’s anything...anything more I can do to help.” _And maybe we could grab a cup of coffee in the cafe downstairs..._

Strange gave her hand a little squeeze before releasing it. “You can count on that, Ms. Lincoln,” he grinned, “If not for research, then perhaps we can talk books some more.”

Beauty had nodded, feeling a little tongue tied, and he had turned to go--but at the elevator just outside the glass doors past her desk, he turned around and gave a little wave, an she waved back. A quiet departure, to be sure, but one that left her rather wistful and wishing with all her might that this fascinating gentleman would have a reason soon to revisit the sanctum of the fourth floor.

Having finished returning his materials to their proper places, Beauty saw that there were only minutes left to closing time. Her preoccupation with Doctor Strange ( _Stephen_ , she reminded herself dreamily), and wishing that she’d had the actual courage to invite him to join her for coffee, had caused her to lose track of time. Back at her desk she began to shut down for the evening, planning to hit the lights just before she locked up. She took one last look around, to be sure that everything was in order--and spotted a yellow legal pad sitting on the table that Stephen had vacated.

_Well now, isn’t that lucky for me? I suppose he’ll have to come back sooner or later to collect his notes._ She picked it up, vowing not to be nosy, though she did notice his note-taking appeared rather sparse--and in the tradition of doctors, barely legible. More hopeful than curious, she tucked his notepad in the top drawer of her desk, grabbed her handbag from the bottom drawer, and headed off for home.

**( _to be continued_ )**


	2. Hello Again

Over the next few days, Beauty’s impressions of the sophisticated gentleman and the unusual subject of his research didn’t fade a bit. If anything, her vibrant curiousity and insistently romantic nature kept her evermore intrigued. His notepad remained in her desk drawer, and with almost every whoosh of the 4th floor sliding glass door, she turned her attention in that direction, hoping that he had returned to retrieve it. Midafternoon of the third day---at nearly the same time that Strange had approached her for assistance the first time---she looked over to find him striding through the door.

Despite hoping to avoid such an obvious reaction, she felt herself smile delightedly---though she maintained patience enough to remain seated. _He’s one tall, cool drink of water_ , she sighed inwardly; _I wonder if he knows how suave and good looking he is!_ Beauty held her greeting until he came up to her desk. “Good afternoon, Doctor---I’ve been wondering when you might be back.” She opened her top desk drawer and pulled out his notes.

“Why, thank you, Ms. Lincoln,” he grinned, “I didn’t even realize I’d left those behind until I had to prep for a meeting with my...associates.”

“Oh, now that’s a shame,” she sympathized, noticing once again the tremor in his hands as he took the small legal pad from her, “Does that mean you had to cancel?”

He shook his head, “Nope. They were more for talking points than anything else, but I managed quite nicely without them.” 

Beauty nodded, answering his easy smile with one of her own. “Great...that’s great...” His astonishing eyes---their aesthetically distinctive almond shape unlike any she had seen on a man before---held a mirth even beyond his smile, as though he knew a happy secret...making her wish that he would share it. _Now you’re being ridiculous_ , she chided herself. A flush of embarrasment colored her cheeks at the inpulse to ask, so that she looked down as she added, “It’s always gratifying to know that a library patron has benefited from, um...our resources.”

“Well then,” he chuckled warmly, “Funny you should say so, as I’m hoping you can help me once again.”

Beauty couldn’t help the grin she beamed him; she had never had anything close to a poker face, and all her friends (and a few ex-boyfriends) often told her she was a easy to read as the books she so loved. _So be it,_ she decided, _maybe it won’t be such a bad thing after all for this man...Stephen Strange...to see that I’m interested in him._

* * *

Stephen honestly hadn’t needed his written notes at all; his photographic memory had provided all the information he had required to come up with a plan for he and the Adepts he had selected to assist him, to deal with the haunting that was plaguing those old buildings in Hell’s Kitchen. Once he’d realized that he’d left them behind, he had been bemused---for even as he had descended the Library’s stone stairs onto the sidewalk, he’d already been trying to come up with a good reason to revisit the 4th floor, and the lovely Ms. Lincoln, who had been of such ready assistance. And whose discerning nature had her treat him with such especial compassion in regard to his hands. In that moment, when he saw that she understood his plight, he had seen empathy and honest kindness in her soft, blue eyes---rather than pity and obligatory kindness, which so often met him when he moved about in the non-magical world. In the days that followed, as he contemplated retrieving his notes, he had wondered if he’d subconsciously left them behind just for the handy excuse to see her again.

Watching her tapping away at her keyboard, searching for the location of the materials he had requested, Stephen decided any excuse would have been good enough for him to enjoy the pleasure of her company once more.

She collected the books and periodicals he had asked for, with prompt efficiency, delivering them to his table along with another pair of large, white cotton gloves.

As before, Stephen jotted down the most relevant information, using a sort of shorhand he’d devised for himself during his university days. All the while, sneaking occassional glances Ms. Lincoln’s way---only to catch her watching him a few times as well, so that they exchanged smiles of silent acknowledgement. And damned if it didn’t feel good, sharing such a simple, spontaneous,light-hearted interaction with a bright, pretty woman. It felt like ages since his life had allowed for that kind of quiet but satisfying exchange. _If I remember it correctly_ , he mused, _this is what flirting feels like_. 

Once he was finished, Stephen took the trouble of carrying his research materials to the empty cart sitting beside Ms. Lincoln’s desk. She looked up the moment she sensed him there. “Oh---I could have gotten those for you, Doctor Strange...”

“No need to---you looked pretty focused and I didn’t want to interrupt you.” He leaned a bit closer, lowering his voice in consideration of nearby patrons, “And it’s Stephen...remember?”

She blinked guilessly, and bit her lower lip before answering, “Ah, yes, of course.” Pausing a moment, she inhaled softly and then added meaningfully, “Stephen.”

He nodded, “That’s better...” The pause between them felt expectant, as though each was waiting for the other to speak. Stephen was the first to break. “So...I really do owe you my thanks...”

“Not at all,,,that’s exactly what I’m here for...” She trailed off with a pretty tilt of her head.

“Still, I would have been lost without your help,” he insisted.

“Well, you’re very welcome...Stephen. It’s, uh...”she smiled, looking almost shy at his attention, “...it’s been my...pleasure. Truly.”

_Ok, Stephen_ , he was thinking as he decided to plunge ahead, _nothing ventured, nothing gained. Even if it feels like forever since you did this..._

He glanced at the nameplate on the edge of her desk. _B._ _Sarah Lincoln_. “Still, uh...Sarah, is it?”

She hesitated a moment, so that he wondered if he’d overstepped his bounds, addressing her so personally, until she gave a little shrug, “Mmm...yes...”

“I’m thinking, if it’s alright with you---maybe I could treat you to a cup of coffee in the cafe downstairs? As, uh...my way of...showing you my gratitude?”

Her eyes widened and she answered without giving a second thought, a lovely smile creasing her lips, “I’d love to.” But then she looked down at her watch, and inhaled sharply, “Ah...but I’ve got a meeting with the other department heads in about ten minutes, and I can’t duck out on it.” To her credit, she looked genuinely disappointed, “Sorry, Stephen...”

“Oh, that’s fine,” he replied, appreciative that her initial answer had been an enthusiastic ‘yes’, even if she couldn’t carry through. “Maybe some other day, then?”

“Absolutely,” she affirmed without pause, “Yes.”

Buoyed as much by the answer in her kind eyes as by the warm invitation in her smile, Stephen wished her a good afternoon---deciding even before the elevator had closed, that he shouldn’t let more than a couple of days pass this time, until he found a reason to visit the Library again.


End file.
